Watching You Dance
by tsora17
Summary: Sherlock and John discover the truth about their favourite psychopath and how Moriarty survived the roof.


I obviously do not own Sherlock. If I did, I wouldn't be on fanfiction (which I love and am addicted to). Instead, I'd have an honest to God publisher and would be making a bunch of money.

I would love to hear your thoughts on this little piece.

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Watching You Dance

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Sherlock breathed nervously. He was facing down his greatest enemy - again. Just like he had done before on the roof of St. Bart's hospital.

When the "Did you miss me?" messages had been broadcast all over the U.K., the raven haired detective had been brought back to face him down a third time. Moriarty had once again made them race all over London, to the furthest reaches of Scotland, and the northern tip of Wales to save the people Moriarty would kidnap as the bait for his games.

Now Sherlock and John were in a disused RAF hanger left over from the second World War.

"Welcome, boys. I'm _so _glad you could come to the party." The figure the sound came from stood in the shadows.

"How could it be you...?" Sherlock's tone was incredulous. He, apparently recognizing the voice, settled back into his Belstaff and sighed, "Ah, of course."

"I don't understand. That's not Moriarty's voice." John said only to hear a high-pitched laugh echo through the hanger. "Another hostage?"

"I don't believe so. Think about it, John." Sherlock began, "Who always hated me?"

John deadpanned, "Loads of people, Sherlock."

"But, who sent Lestrade down the path of doubting me?"

"Anderson and Donovan. But, we both know Anderson's an idiot and not clever enough to be Moriarty."

Sherlock strode closer to the shadows where his rival stood as he spoke, "Too true. Still, let's continue the exercise. After I fell, how did Anderson react?"

"He went off the deep end...lost his job...grew a beard."

"Sounds like a little doctor we know, eh, Sherlock?" Moriarty mocked. "After all, a true pet does mourn his master's demise."

Sherlock ignored Moriarty's jibe, "How did _Donovan_ react, John?"

"She … I don't know. I was a little distracted after you 'died'. The one time I saw her. . . nothing had changed really. She showed no remorse. I almost punched her."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he stepped closer. "A bit like a psychopath...don't you think?"

The sound of Moriarty's hands clapping bounced off the walls as she stepped into the light.

"Sally?" John stood astounded and tried to keep up with the conversation between the psychopath and the high functioning sociopath.

" 'Moriarty' – mother's name?"

"Grandmother's," Sally corrected. "Anna Moriarty – the grandmother who raised me. Thought I'd do the ol'girl the honour of having her name remembered. And it will be remembered, Sherlock."

"Hang on. If you're Moriarty, who was the man who shot himself on the roof?" John asked, his anger rising.

"An actor – I can't remember his real name . . . I must have deleted it. I put him on the payroll about three years before you watched Sherlock do his little swan dive. Plenty of time for him to become me. Loads of time to create a new history for him as 'Richard Brook'."

"You hired him around the time when I first met you." Sherlock mused.

"Wait a minute. How could make a man shoot himself in the head?" John questioned.

Sally Moriarty turned to John, "How can I make a cabbie become a serial killer? How can I get away with murdering a General in the Black Lotus? How can I orchestrate the downfall of the world's greatest detective? - Intelligence, money, power – all wrapped up in my pretty little package. Besides, I told him they were blanks."

"A package I declined to unwrap. Is that why you hate me? My spurning of your advances."

"Don't be stupid. I hate you because you have the brilliance to be me, yet you spend your time serving the cattle when you should be ruling them. It's purely your loss that you declined to have sex with me."

Sherlock smiled, "Ah, well, at least you had Anderson."

"Cattle?" John looked at Sherlock.

Sally ignored John's question as she walked around Sherlock. "Over and over again. You should hear the noises he makes – they're so funny. Although, he could never be my live-in, he's way too stupid. I only let him live because I liked watching him spiral."

Sherlock spoke to John, but he never took his eyes off Sally. "People, John. Sally thinks of normal people as cattle."

Sally spat back, "Don't be a hypocrite, Sherlock. So do you."

"I am nothing like you."

"Says the man who's willing to meet me in Hell. I must say you're doing a good job of it. I loved it when you shot Magnussen. It was too perfect: 'Merry Christmas'. Ah, I laughed for days."

"I'm sure you know what I was up to while I was 'dead'. But, what did you do? You asked 'Did you miss me?' You only asked that because the truth, Sally, is that _you_ missed me. It must have been so boring while I was gone."

"I watched your pathetic fumblings the entire time, my dear. But, oh, alright, I missed you. The most fun I had while you were destroying my network was planning a series of robberies and watching Lestrade try to catch them. You should 'ave seen the looks on his face. I think I almost gave him a heart attack once. I most certainly gave him an ulcer. If you hadn't called him away on your asinine attempt to write a best man's speech, he would be dead now – shot by one of the robbers in the line of duty."

The doctor stepped forward, "Hang on. Why would you allow Sherlock to tear down your network?"

"Johnny-boy, I've found that as much a I hate him, I love watching him dance." Sally turned back to Sherlock. "All that time, when you were running across the globe destroying all my hard work and risking your life, I was in London, cozy and safe, drinking hot cups of tea. Watching those who loved you most fall apart. It was so. . . _satisfying._"

John continued, "You could have shown up at any time. So why come back now?"

"Well, I couldn't let them send my favourite toy away, just when I was getting bored again."

"I hope you've had your fun, Sally. Because, this madness ends here!" Sherlock hissed as he pulled out a gun.

A sly smirk crept upon Sally Moriarty's face as she stepped closer towards the barrel of the gun. Her jesting tone fell away to her serious side, "Ending? Oh, no _my dear_. This is just the beginning."

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I know that they way I've left this lends itself to more chapters, but right now, I think I will leave it here. I mainly wanted to give my thoughts on the 'How could Moriarty still be alive?' question. Besides, I've got to finish some other stories right now.

Hope you liked this. Please give me your thoughts.

Tsora17


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